


Dog Days

by LazyBaker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bestiality, JustFuckMeUp, M/M, Rimming, Surgeon Hannibal, Young Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7164611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has a private webcam show. Hannibal is his patron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Days

**Author's Note:**

> Will really loves his dog. Hannibal really loves Will playing with his dog (and Will being Will). This contains **bestiality**.

It is half past three in the morning when Hannibal makes it home with heavy eyes and the obligation that he should go right to bed and sleep. That’s what people do and Hannibal, despite everything, is still _people_. But he doesn’t go to bed.

He undresses and showers, the water set to cold to wake him up, and puts on a soft pair of pants and a sweater. He makes himself a very late dinner or a very early breakfast, a quick vegetable omelet that fills his empty stomach. He takes a cup of coffee and goes into his study to wait.

Before his session starts, he sips his coffee, warming his cold fingers and ignoring his growing erection tenting his pants. He doesn’t touch himself.

He puts on his headphones and waits.

-

The dog is a large german shepherd named ‘ _Rumford_ ’. He is a proud and happy dog, his fur a rich plethora of chocolates that has been brushed and cared for. He imagines he is warm and soft against one’s bare skin and knows, having seen this many times, perfectly capable of sating his lonely owner. 

While Hannibal may have never met his owner in person, he can see in his doe like eyes that he finds more comfort with the furry underbelly of a dog than any human he’d met. Loneliness is just a side effect of being different and not trying to conform and Hannibal can relate. 

Hannibal admires him greatly for his choices. Wonders if he can push him farther and hopes that he can.

He refrains from finding out more than what he’s gathered during their sessions. It’s part of the game, he supposes. It doesn’t ease his curiosity, for which he is glad.

Hannibal can see the wag of Rumford’s tail from behind the pale and scratched-red slope of the young boy’s back. He’d seen many of those scratches made. 

 _Nineteen_ , he thinks, the deep voice a direct contrast to his boyish looks.

Will–or _BitchBoy69_ –is so close to the camera that the entire screen is filled with his flushed face and surely, wherever he is, the screen on his end would be fogged and his keyboard slippery with sweat and pleasure induced drool had he not laid a towel down beforehand.

Hannibal can see the individual beads of perspiration as the dog works Will over, one dangerously close to dripping and tumbling down and off his nose. His hitched breath crowding into the microphone and becoming a cacophony with the wet licks of Rumford’s tongue that shove their way out of Hannibal’s headphones.

“Is it too early? Did you stay up studying?”

“I thought we agreed nothing personal,” Will pants, face a bright red as he glares at him. It seems that no matter the circumstance, Will would always retain his fire. “You seem like the type with a reputation. I don’t think you’d want me looking too closely.”

Hannibal doesn’t answer, smiling. “You seem so sure.”

Will nods, eyes closing in bliss and concentrating on that new angle, head thrown back. His neck is so thin. Hannibal twitches.

He’s been looking forward to this all week. Has hardly managed to retain any attention for his patients, mind lingering back at home, in his study and in Will’s bedroom, waiting for Friday’s return and leaving no room for mundane stabbings and bullet wounds.

“Did I spoil the mood?” Will opens one eye to look over. “You’re quieter.” Will manages to say between one long lick and the next, staring at the screen as if he could see Hannibal and unravel the mystery of why his tongue has tied itself into knots. Hannibal doesn’t know why either. He doesn’t understand this himself and revels in it.  

It’s new and good and Will is whining as Rumford must be licking inside him, Will finally opening up to that long eager tongue.

Hannibal nips at his own finger and remembers the sweet pink of Will’s hole, the soft hair surrounding it and the wet puffiness after a good knotting. 

He is, again, incredibly envious of Rumford.

“You got a new computer.” Hannibal says, the video quality is better than last week. Will moves back, giving Hannibal a full view of his underwear pulled taut between his thighs, his cock a bright little thing swaying with his hips and dripping a glistening string of cum onto his boxers.

Hannibal chases after him, edges closer and closer to his screen not daring to go any further or else his own panted breaths would paint his laptop, covering and ruining this moment where he can see Will in the growing peaks of his pleasure.

Will smiles, lips pinched tight before he gasps, ‘ _good boy_ ’, shoving himself backwards. “I thought my patron might like it.”

“For me?”

Will rolls his eyes and groans low in his belly, arching his back to a painful degree to give Rumford more room.

There are little freckles on the side of Will’s face, they are new to him and he cannot look away. There is simply so much to now look at and keep.

“Don’t get too full of yourself.” Will smiles, demure in that way that is hiding real shyness and awkwardness. 

Hannibal’s chest tightens and he desperately wants to understand _why is it doing that?_

Will starts to turn around, but Hannibal tsks at him. A sharp sound that stops him, his eyes turning back wide and questioning and Hannibal’s fingers curl into his thighs. Already he was straining to touch himself because he couldn’t reach through the screen and grab this boy and rut into him.

“I want to watch your face.” To see the little tears spring up at the corners of his eyes, to watch those curls flatten and sag against his skull. Freckles standing stark in the blaze of his blush. “Let him make you feel good, Will.”

Will laughs. He reaches behind himself and pats Rumford on the head. 

Rumford’s licks echo in Will’s room, the new microphone picking up the small rumbles of Will’s chest and the wet slap of the dog’s tongue, seemingly endless in his enjoyment at slicking up his owner’s body.

“Tell me.” Hannibal says. His breath is caught in his throat and struck dumb by the way Will’s mouth hangs open in a silent moan, red lips bitten soft and tenderized.

Will's head hangs between his shoulders, arms shaking. “It’s good. God–” Will closes his eyes and, unable to hold himself up anymore, collapses on the floor, shaking as he cums, Rumford’s large snout still buried in his ass, oblivious to Will trembling. His voice gone high and so very young as he whimpers there at the mercy of his loyal dog.

Hannibal is flushed and sweating himself and he doesn’t hear the creaking of his chair until Will has gone quiet. His hands are wrapped around the arms, seconds from snapping the wood and its screws off. He takes a breath and finger by finger forces himself to relax. His cock throbbing, calling for him to touch. To find Will and breed him himself, fuck into the willing sweet hole Rumford has prepared.

Will has rolled over and is rubbing and hugging Rumford as he stands over him, the beginnings of red peaking out of his sheath. Will rubs at it with the back of his hand, a promise for later– _soon_. They are the picture of a happy dog with his happy owner. 

Hannibal must have been to quiet for too long because Will is looking back at him, questioning and even concerned. Hannibal likes being on the receiving end of such a look.

“I don’t get it.” Will says. “You don’t–you never get off.”

“I enjoy watching you. I don’t want any distractions.”

Will laughs. Rumford licks his face. Will playfully shoves him away before opening his mouth and letting him lick inside wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his fingers in Rumford’s fur, a sloppy wet kiss that leaves Will with a shiny face. He smacks his lips afterwards, grinning up at Rumford and then at Hannibal.

“Same time next week?” Will says. 


End file.
